


We could do some damage

by queenofchildren



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, Lincoln the bartender, bonnie and clyde - Freeform, but really mostly fluff, good girl gone bad, mention of drug abuse and death, shameless fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-01-21
Packaged: 2018-03-07 01:43:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3156260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofchildren/pseuds/queenofchildren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke Griffin has always been a good girl. But at some point after her father dies and the guy she thought she loved turns out to have been a two-timing bastard, Clarke thinks that maybe it's time to change that. And what better person to stage a rebellion with than Bellamy Blake?</p>
<p>Or: Clarke wants to be a bad girl for once, Bellamy is not too crazy about being the Clyde to her Bonnie, and both learn not to judge a book by its cover.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I put my high heels on so I'm closer to God

Clarke Griffin is standing in front of her roommate's full-length mirror, frowning at her reflection. The light blue evening gown she's wearing is exquisite, and was in fact very expensive. Her mother treated her to it the last time they met and went shopping, only to use it as leverage to get her to come to the Mayor's annual dinner for the city's movers and shakers. Since her mother and the Mayor are old friends, the Griffins have always attended. Well, they used to attend, until her father died in that accident her mother still doesn't talk about, and Clarke has refused to go for the past few years.

This year, however, her mother somehow got her to say she'll attend the event at a swanky midtown hotel. What got to her in the end was not the dress, which she could just return, but the fact that Clarke knows her mother only wants her to be happy, no matter how much they might disagree on how to achieve that. Clarke just wants to be left alone to paint and hang out with her friends, but her mother pushes her to apply to med school (and Clarke has to admit, she did love pre-med and is actually a little bit excited about starting med school in the fall) and to attend extracurriculars like the debate club because it looks good on her CV, and of course none but the best hospitals will do for her internship. And now, apparently, her mother has got it into her head that after the Finn-disaster all Clarke needs is a nice, WASPy guy to take her mind off him.

Hence the dress. Which doesn't look bad per se. Combined with her blonde hair, tucked back with a silver hair clamp, it gives her a certain Grace Kelly-vibe. Clarke looks classy, cute, and boring as fuck.

Of course, that was probably intended: She looks like a proper young lady, like the good girl that she is, and suddenly Clarke is sick and tired of being a good girl. Because really, what has it gotten her so far, other than a dead father, a broken heart and an inhuman workload?

No, for one night, Clarke wants to be someone, anyone else. Angrily, she jerks at the zipper on the side of the dress, only for it to get stuck. She rips the dress over her head instead, not caring if it gets torn, and lets it fall to the floor before diving into her closet for the little black dress she hasn't worn in years. A simple, knee-length shift, it used to be quite demure when she bought it for her Dad's funeral three years ago. But now, due to the infamous freshman fifteen (and then some, because pre-med is hard), the dress looks a little... different. It fits like a second skin on her hips, and her ample chest threatens to spill out of the once perfectly appropriate square cleavage.

The next thing to go is the simple, sleek up-do she normally does for these occasions. She takes out the hair clamp and shakes out her curls, teasing them until she has achieved a look that can only be described as 'just been thoroughly fucked'-hair. Next, she applies the red lipstick Octavia gave her for her last birthday that she's never used because it's so dramatic, and finishes with a simple but bold black eyeliner.

Clarke gives her reflection a satisfied nod. Now there's only one thing missing to complete the transformation...

Barefoot, she pads over to the giant shoe rack in the hall, two-thirds of which are occupied by Octavia's shoes. Her roommate and best friend has granted her full access to her extensive wardrobe and shoe collection, but Clarke rarely makes use of the offer because, well, Octavia's choices – in fashion as in everything else – are generally a little bolder than Clarke prefers. But today, a pair of Octavia's black four-inch heels are just the thing she needs. The red soles of the Louboutin knock-offs are complementing her red lipstick perfectly, and thankfully, she and her roommate have the same shoe-size.

She totters into the living-room, alarmingly unsteady on her feet, but after a few turns around their tiny apartment, Clarke thinks she'll manage to stay on her feet in the unusual heels. Forgoing a jacket because the night is mild, she grabs her purse and keys and leaves, feeling bold and brave and alive, and wondering what else she might try tonight. After all, if you're going to give up being a good girl, you might as well do it right.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've finally managed to do a modern AU! I was inspired by listening to Natalia Kills (especially "Stop me", where the chapter titles are from), which in turn I was prompted to do by nyxierose's excellent college AU "That girl is a problem“.  
> The first chapter is mainly Clarke giving herself a makeover, but please bear with me – I promise, lots more is going to happen later. In fact, I already wrote the last chapter, and not to brag, but I think it turned out so sweet I may have clogged a few arteries.


	2. Standing at the bar with your scars and your lonely heart

Bellamy is standing under the crystal chandelier of the Four Seasons Grand Intercontinental, or whatever this absurdly expensive yet completely soulless hotel is called, and looks around with a contemptuous sneer. Gathered in the hotel's ballroom and occasionally spilling out into the lobby are the city's one percent, decked out in their evening finery to congratulate each other on whatever it is they consider achievements. Bellamy doesn't care as long as they tip generously at the end of the night and ensure that his sister's education continues. He didn't have a chance to go to college because his mother died just after graduation and he droppped out to take care of his little sister, but he'll make sure Octavia gets a good shot at life. Even if it means taking on those mind-numbing waitressing jobs in addition to his regular job at the Delinquent Youth Center.

Thankfully, his shift has ended, the party slowly winding down, and he can't complain about the tips. That's about the only thing he can say for these people, he thinks, most of them are not exactly stingy. Or maybe they just don't think fifty bucks is a lot of money, but either way, he won't complain. Nonetheless, he's glad to be out of there. Generous or not, the people upstairs in the grand ballroom are all the same, stuffy and full of themselves and managing to be at the same time incredibly powerful and incredibly boring.

Well, except for the one who is staggering down the great staircase at this very moment, unsteady on her high heels, hair in disarray and a half-empty champagne flute clutched in her hand. She certainly doesn't look boring, but she also doesn't look like she belongs here. She looks... alive. And, to be honest, a little like she wandered in here from the street hoping to snag a Sugar-Daddy. He's not trying to be judgmental, God knows his sister has a penchant for short skirts and killer heels, but the dress code at this shindig is more 'debutante ball' and less 'maneaters international'. Not that he's complaining, mind you – the sharp contrast of black dress, blood-red lipstick and blonde curls stands out from the sea of pastels, and the dress, while simple, accentuates some curves that he would with a clean conscience describe as a work of art.

She's safely reached the bottom of the stairs, looking around, when she spots him and squints, a hint of recognition sneaking onto her face. Come to think of it, she does look familiar, and just as he's wracking his brain trying to figure out where he knows her from, another woman appears at the top of the stairs and calls down to her.

"Clarke! Where are you going? Come back here, Senator Kane wants you to meet his son.” The woman's voice is polished and soft despite her imperious words, and finally, recognition strikes. The girl in front of him is none other than his little sister's roommate, although she looks nothing like the serious, studious girl he met the few times he visited. She looks... like trouble.

“Tough luck Mom, cause I'm done being thrown at every young man you consider suitable. In fact....” Her eyes land on his again and Bellamy feels a shiver run down his spine that could be fear or excitement. “I think I'll go for unsuitable tonight.”

And with that, she strides over, throws her arms around his neck, and kisses him. He knows he should feel insulted, and more than a little nervous about being part of a display that could get him fired, but then her lips open under his, an invitation if ever there was one, and he cannot form a single coherent thought. She tastes like champagne and anger, but she feels completely right, he ponders as he lays his hands on her waist and pulls her closer. He can hear Doctor Griffin's shocked cry of "Clarke!" from the top of the stairs, and when he opens his eyes he can see her standing there looking like she's about to explode, and he can't help but grin against Clarke's lips. Over Clarke's shoulder, his friend Wick gives him an enthusiastic thumbs up from the coat room, and he finally returns to his senses enough to know that this is not a good idea. Not at all.

Just then, she pulls away and gives him a smile that threatens to stop his heart. It is bracing and triumphant, with just a hint of surprise mixed in, and more than a little bit of a challenge. 

“Come on, Blake. Let's have an adventure.“

With that, she takes his hand and pulls him out of the hotel, and he only follows dumbly. While she hails a taxi, he's still trying to process a lot of information, like the fact that she does know who he is, she just kissed him, and she did it to piss off her mother. He's not sure how he feels about that, but he doesn't have time to figure it out because next thing he knows she hands the driver a credit card and orders him to take them to the airport.

And now he's getting really scared. Her grand scene at the hotel was very entertaining and adorable and, to be honest, a little bit badass, but there's no way he's driving to the airport with a drunk lunatic. A drunk, rich lunatic who wants to piss off her mother. He knows how these things work: She'll get them into some kind of trouble because she's angry and drunk and trying to prove a point about being an independent woman and living life to the fullest, but when she attacks airport security or tries to shoplift for a kick it'll be the former juvenile delinquent who takes the fall.

For a moment, he's tempted to tell her where she can shove her rebellion and ask the cab driver to let him out. He's a person, damn it, not a prop for her private drama. But then he remembers the things Octavia has told him about her college roommate, about the father who died a few years ago and the mother whose only response to that was to push her daughter to work even harder, and if he remembers correctly there was also a very nasty story about a two-timing boyfriend. Come to think of it, Octavia tells him a lot of stuff about her roommate's private life, considering they don't know each other that well.

The bottom line is, however, that she may be a spoiled princess who apparently considers him 'unsuitable', but she's also a girl – well, woman, he thinks with a look at her strong, pale legs – who's been through a lot and who should probably not be left to roam the city's airport with a credit card looking for trouble.

So he suggests they make one more stop, take one for the road, and gives the driver the address to his favourite place. The aptly named Lincoln's Cave is an absolute dive, but it's right downstairs from his apartment and blessedly clear of college students because it's too far from Campus. The moment they arrive at the small, dark bar, Clarke throws herself into her new mission of being the wildest girl in town with abandon, and he can't help being swept up in it. He always got the impression that there was a force to be reckoned with contained within her small frame, but he could never have expected what happens when her iron self-control slips and she unleashes that force on her surroundings.

What happens is a hurricane that sweeps the entire bar up in its wake. Not only is Clarke on a first name basis with Lincoln the bartender within the first half hour – assuming that is his first name at all – but she manages to befriend half the regulars as well, some of whom are bad boys of the _really_ unsuitable kind, and all of whom are soon hanging off her lips. But he never leaves her side and levels them all with dark glares, assisted by Lincoln, who is kind enough to cut off the ones veering from 'functioning alcoholic' into 'dangerously drunk'. Because with her on a reckless course to abandoning all sanity, Bellamy guesses it is only a matter of time before she decides to give a proper bad boy a shot, and that's where he draws the line. She came here with him, she'll leave with him - not because of some territorial shit but because she's getting drunker by the second, she's clearly in a bad place right now, and she's his sister's friend. Most of all, however, he stays because she chose him, for whatever reason, and that makes her his responsibility. 

Ostensibly, he only does it so she doesn't do anything stupid that Octavia will blame him for later. But if he is perfectly honest with himself, he is having more than a little fun dancing and drinking and letting loose with Clarke. It's always the quiet ones, he thinks to himself as she calls for another round of Tequila, and when she climbs onto a table and pulls him up to dance, he manages to simultaneously think 'I'm going to kill that girl' and 'I'm going to marry that girl.' 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got so excited about this story, I posted the next chapter right away.  
> I'm pretty sure they're both a little out of character, but I'll just blame it on the alcohol.


	3. If I, if I run away with you tonight, tonight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is where Clarke gets a little weird. You have been warned.

If Clarke had known being a bad girl was this much fun, she would have swapped her sneakers for heels a long time ago, she thinks as she's trying, rather uncoordinatedly, to tango with Bellamy Blake in a dark little dive bar. (Literal tango, not the euphemism her grandmother used it for, although the thought of doing that with him is not exactly revolting either.)

Come to think of it though, none of the things she did tonight would have required high-heels, red lipstick or a too-tight black dress. Only Bellamy seems to be instrumental to having a very good time, and she makes a mental note to remember that as he holds on to her waist and dramatically dips her backwards, causing her to shriek and break out in maniacal laughter.

Never in a million years could Clarke have imagined how this night would go. Sure, she had made the resolution to do something fun and different for once, but she hadn't actually gotten very far past the tight dress and too much champagne at dinner. Until she stormed out the ballroom, fleeing from the fifth young man her mother tried to introduce her to, and spotted an absolute hottie in the hotel lobby – only to realise the hottie was actually her roommate's big brother. But if Clarke is completely honest with herself, that was really the last push she needed to make her rather uncharacteristic move.

Because Clarke may, just may, have had a little crush on Bellamy Blake for a very long time. And who wouldn't? Not only is the man ridiculously gorgeous and cares for his sister admirably, but there's also got that mysterious, brooding thing going most of the time that hints at an air of danger. Clarke knows that's probably just a figment of her imagination – Octavia mentioned some wild teenage years, but by now, Bellamy has some kind of social worker job, and the only traces of a bad boy are a worn black leather jacket, a motorbike and a scorching gaze.

And as Clarke finds out now, that's actually alright. She wouldn't trade this laughing, caring man for the most exciting bad boy in the world, Clarke thinks and uses the start of a slower song to move closer and weave her arms around him. She nuzzles his neck and smiles contentedly when she feels him draw in a sharp breath.

“You are very special, Bellamy Blake. You know that?”

“Yes, I'm quite the little snowflake.”

She frowns, because she may be drunk but she can still hear the sarcasm in his voice, and anyway, that's not the right metaphor. “No. You're the most beautiful broom in a broom closet of brooms.”

He looks like he's about to protest but then shakes his head with a laugh. “So are you, Princess. You're the most beautiful broom of all.”

It is a ridiculous statement, but he says it with such earnestness that she feels deeply moved. Then again, she was also deeply moved a few minutes ago when someone put a Meat Loaf song on at the old-fashioned jukebox, so... Nonetheless, she feels that this is an excellent occasion for a repeat of the honestly rather spectacular kiss they shared in the hotel lobby.

Unfortunately, she doesn't get to put this plan into action, because someone is rather rudely yanking her arm.

“Hey Blondie, I didn't buy you a drink so you could get off with some other guy.” Clarke thinks she remembers doing a shot with the bald, tattooed guy earlier, but still his statement is far from the truth.

“Oh please, you didn't buy me a drink at all. I paid for every drop I've had with my own stolen credit card.”

It may not be the best idea to publicise that fact so openly, but if there's one thing she can't stand it's rude people treating her like she's stupid.

“Still no reason to lead someone on.”

The man is still holding to her arm with a tight grip, and she's vaguely aware that this would probably hurt if she wasn't so drunk. Either way, she's getting seriously pissed off right now.

So, apparently, is Bellamy, who steps up by her side, spine straight and chest puffed out as she wrenches her arm out of the big biker's grip.

“Back off. She can do whatever the hell she wants.”

Drunk Clarke is once more overcome with emotion and beams at Bellamy because it's just so sweet that he's defending her from a man twice as broad as him (and that's saying something). Unfortunately, that distracts Bellamy enough for the man to pull back his arm and hit him with what Clarke things might be a right hook and definitely looks brutal.

Her heightened emotions swing back to anger. Like hell is she going to let some drunk asshole attack her Bellamy. Wait, is he – _her_ Bellamy? Who cares, Clarke thinks and delivers a swift, hard kick to the attacker's groin that has him doubled over and staggering away.

She turns to find Bellamy leaning against the bar behind her, clutching his face with tears of pain in his eyes. The sight cuts through the rage within her and fills her with immense tenderness and more than a bit of guilt.

“Are you alright? I'm so sorry!”

“It's not your fault that guy was an asshole. And you saved my ass.”

She looks from him, holding his jaw, to the guy doubled over a few steps away, and beams.

“I did, didn't I?”

He tries to return the smile and winces, and Clarke leans into him to check if he's injured. She's going to be a doctor, after all, she can't let her partner in crime run around with an undiagnosed injury. Bracing herself on his arms, Clarke stretches up to get a good look at his jaw, because the lighting is abominable in here - only to get distracted by the steadiness of the body under her hands, the sloping lines of his jaw and cheekbones, and, as her gaze slides higher, the dark depths of his eyes, fixing her intently. 

"I'm fine, Princess." She's sure he means to reassure her, but his voice is rough and breathless, and she swallows hard, only to see him mirror the motion. 

Letting go of his taut biceps, regrettingly, she cradles his cheek in her hands. 

"You sure?"

He nuzzles into her palm and smiles while his eyes roam her face.

"Couldn't be better."

This time, his voice is steady, if still rough, and only when she feels it rumble through her chest does Clarke realise that she's pressed up against him. And since she's already almost there, she allows herself to tilt forward and meet his lips, relishing in the way his hands find her waist almost immediately as if he's aware of every inch of her body at all times. They stay pressed together for a long, sweet kiss, and while Clarke would love for him to pin her against the bar and have his way with her, she's still aware of the fact that they're in a public place - barely. Apparently, there's a brazen hussy hidden inside her that comes out when tempted with red lipstick and alcohol, and Clarke is about to surrender to the hussy's whims when Bellamy breaks away from her, looking past her with a worried expression.

"I think your admirer is rallying. Maybe we should get out of here."

Throwing a look over her shoulder, Clarke can see the man straightening up a few steps over, a thunderous look on his face. She's still pissed enough to be tempted to give him a piece of her mind, but judging from their earlier altercation, Bellamy's the one who will have to pay for that. So she nods, takes Bellamy's hand once more and they slip out the exit.  

They stumble out onto the street, Clarke's arm around Bellamy's waist, his around her shoulders. She can't keep from breaking out into giggles at the memory of that guy's face, but Bellamy looks less amused. And that is inacceptable, because she wants him to have fun. She promised him an adventure, after all, and he always seems kind of tense and tired when he visits Octavia.

That's when it occurs to Clarke that they are still not in Paris like she'd planned to when they left the hotel, not even on the way there actually. And she really does want to see Paris, because of the Impressionists – not that she is still even remotely able to pronounce that word – and the old Masters at the Louvre and the stained-glass windows of Notre Dame and the Seine at sunrise. So she hails a passing cab and drags Bellamy inside, for the second time that day.

Snuggled into Bellamy's side as they speed through the dark streets, she starts daydreaming about the City of Lights, painting him a picture with her words in the hope that he'll smile again.

They'll start out with the Musée d'Orsay, the home of the Impressionists, before getting in line at the Louvre. Then maybe a bit of modern art at the Georges Pompidou, for inspiration. And since she guesses Bellamy should get something he's interested in as well, and because she remembers Octavia telling her how she was named after a Roman emperor's sister because Bellamy was such a history nerd, she'll graciously allow him to drag her to the Hôtel des Invalides to look at Napoleon's grave and the military museum. Then a quick trip to Montmartre, the famous artists' district...

 

 

_They spend their days exploring the city and their nights exploring each other at a cosy little hotel. But three days into their stay, Abby Griffin's credit card is rejected for the first time, and Clarke knows her mother has discovered what she's done. So she mumbles an apology to the hotel receptionist, something about having to check in with her credit card company and being back in a minute, gets Bellamy from the breakfast room and pulls him out of the hotel by a side door, and they run._

 

_She's close to panicking every time a police car approaches, but Bellamy keeps a cool head and is thankfully knowledgeable about evading the police. He jacks a car and they make it out of the city, driving South towards the Mediterranean because she's always wanted to see the lavender fields of the Provence and Bellamy says he'd quite fancy himself living it up on a yacht at the Côte d'Azur._

 

_They never make it to the sea, getting stopped at a roadblock just past Grenoble, and then they're faced with a choice: Surrender, or turn the car around and try to make a getaway. Bellamy puts the car in reverse and speeds up before pulling up the handbrake, a move she's only ever seen anyone execute in silly action movies._

 

_But the road is icy and narrow, and they don't quite manage the full one-eighty and end up facing the lake by the side of the road, whose striking blue surface she admired just before she noticed the police roadblock. Clarke can now see police cars approaching from both directions, and so she puts her hand over his on the stick shift, looks at him, and nods. He kisses her one last time before he hits the gas._

 

_They break through the guard rail and hit the water, sinking like a stone, and it doesn't take long for water to start seeping into the car, clear and icy, but his hand is still warm in hers as the water rises to her head and envelops her completely._

 

_Then everything goes dark and quiet..._

 

 

At least, until someone shakes her by the shoulder and Clarke opens her eyes to find herself sitting in an unfamiliar hallway with Bellamy Blake standing in front of her, holding out a glass of water.

“Good, you're alive. Drink up.”

Clarke takes the glass and drains it eagerly, only realising now how thirsty she is. But then she demands a refill and downs that too, only for it to threaten to come back up immediately.

She makes it to the door he points to just in time, but she still somehow manages to get a considerable amount of vomit on her dress before she reaches the toilet. While Clarke regurgitates a very expensive dinner and thinks that this is definitely the most humiliating thing she's ever experienced, gentle hands gather her hair back from her face and rub her back soothingly.

“You know, Princess, when you promised me an adventure this is not what I expected.“

She'd smile at his wry humour, so much like Octavia's, if she wasn't so busy dry-heaving. When she's done, he helps her to her feet, propping her against the sink and handing her a fresh toothbrush and toothpaste before leaving the room.

He returns with a clean shirt while she's blearily gargling with mouthwash she found by the sink.

“You should get out of that dress. Can you manage that on your own?”

Clarke spits out the mouthwash and nods, but the movement unsettles her precarious balance, and suddenly she's not so sure anymore. He catches her before she can slam into the edge of the bathtub.

“So help me God, if this ends with Octavia chewing me out for trying to take advantage of you while you're drunk, I will tell your mother about the credit card.”

The room is spinnning too much for her to make sense of any of that, so she just absently watches as he pulls her dress over her head, careful not to get any vomit on her bra and panties. She vaguely remembers imagining a very similar scenario at some point tonight, but while it did involve him taking off her dress, there was no vomit anywhere and he accompanied the act by placing soft kisses all over her body, and she concludes that she'd like that version much better.

“Maybe some other time.”

Clarke can practically hear the smile in his voice as she realises she must have been thinking out loud, but she can't see him because he's pulling a soft black shirt over her head that lands a little above her knees. At least that means he can't see her bright blush either. 

Then Bellamy puts an arm around her waist and leads her down a short hall into a room that is empty save for a wardrobe and an enormous bed. With Bellamy's help, Clarke manages to crawl under the covers and pull them up to her chin. While she snuggles into the bedding, so soft it is positively sinful, he leaves, returning a few seconds later with a big glass of water and a bucket, which he places next to the bed. Even in her hazy state, Clarke thinks that that is an adorably considerate thing to do, and attempts a grateful smile.

“Paris or not,“ she mumbles into the pillow, already half-asleep, “it's still the greatest love story I've ever had. You even walked out on your job for me!“

(She looks so cute half-asleep that Bellamy doesn't tell her his shift ended five minutes before she pounced on him. He'd only been in the lobby instead of taking the service entrance out because he wanted to ask his friend Wick from the coat room about getting a drink later.)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The weird daydream-part of the chapter was actually the idea I started out with: Clarke getting drunk and running off to Paris with Bellamy and them ending up fleeing from the police. But I couldn't bring myself to write the inevitable sad ending of that story, so I chickened out and wrote whatever the hell this was.  
> Also, I tried very hard to make sure Bellamy doesn't emerge from this chapter as a creep preying on Clarke while she's drunk and staying sober to take advantage of her - he's had his fair share of drinks too, but he's trying to keep it together and take care of her.  
> Also, this is the second story I'm working on right now that has Clarke throwing up, but that's pure coincidence - I do not have some weird vomit fetish.


	4. You know I never meant to drag you down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is basically all talk and coffee, but I still hope you enjoy (and maybe comment?).  
> It gets a little dark for a bit, just as a warning.

Clarke sleeps in the next day, but the lumpy sofa has Bellamy awake and tense before ten. Since he can't sleep in his bed and doesn't want to incur any more damage to his back, Bellamy has a leisurely breakfast by himself before cleaning up last night's mess in the bathroom. Stuffing Clarke's soiled dress into the washing machine, he is struck by just how insane the events of last night were – insane, and wonderful, and something he didn't know he needed until she took his hand and dragged him out of the hotel lobby. And that's precisely why he can't seem to stop moving around nervously right now. Because something happened to him last night, something he's afraid of putting a name to, and he has no idea if she'll even remember it – if she'll even want to. After all, the whole mess started with her trying to piss off her mother. She didn't strike him as a snob before, but still there's always a chance that she was serious about that and will return to considering him 'unsuitable' in the light of day, in which case he'll have to protect his pride and walk away.

So Bellamy vacuums and does laundry and scrubs the kitchen floor and brings out the trash which has been piling up over days of putting in overtime. Three hours later he's managed to clean most of his apartment and has returned to the kitchen for a second cup of coffee when Clarke staggers in, looking considerably less adventurous than she did last night. The dark smudges of make-up around her eyes only emphasize the pallour of her face and her hair looks tangled beyond repair, especially the strands she managed to dunk into a fruity cocktail at Lincoln's, but she still looks adorable as hell.

Wordlessly, Bellamy pours her some of the freshly made coffee and slides the mug across the table. She takes the silent invitation and plops down across from him, letting her head sink onto the table with a thump that makes him wince. He guesses she's in so much pain that it doesn't matter much, takes pity and gets some aspirin from the kitchen cabinet.

“Not feeling so great, Princess?”

“I feel like I've been run over by a garbage truck.”

“I can't say I'm surprised.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Well... How much do you remember?”

“I dreamed we flew to Paris and had to run from the French police because I took my mother's credit card to pay for it all.”

“Yeah, that's the one crazy thing that didn't happen. You told me about it though. In great detail.”

Her head shoots up and she stares at him in horror.

“Seriously?”

He nods, more than a little amused. “It was all very Bonnie and Clyde. We died in the end.”

“Oh God. It's all coming back to me now.” With that, her head thuds back down on the table and rests there for several minutes.

Bellamy feels the tiniest bit bad for basking in her embarrassment, because it's not like everything that happened was her fault. Well, it was, but he could have made more of an effort to stop her. Except he had really wanted to see where her adventure would lead them. And, to be completely honest, he had been hoping – more than a little – for a repeat of that angry, passionate kiss that started the whole mess, or the torturously sweet one he got for being punched by an angry biker dude.

In fact, he's starting to come to the realization that he'd like very much to kiss her again, as well as do all of the things she drunkenly suggested he do to her. And if he's even more honest – because why the hell not – he'll have to admit that wish was not just born last night. Every time he's seen her before, whether in rumpled pyjamas, pristine scrubs or the prim and proper slacks and shirts she wears to meet her mother, the thought has crossed his mind that he'd like to know what she looks like underneath her clothes. Now he knows, and... well, it's not helping with his resolution to keep his distance just in case she really is just a spoiled rich brat he doesn't want in his life. Because he does. Very much.

Eventually, she shows signs of life again, slowly lifting her head and finally catching sight of the Aspirin pills. She downs them with her coffee before speaking again.

“I owe you an apology.”

He lets the paper sink to the table and looks at her, eyebrows raised.

“I just remembered what I said to my mother at the hotel, when I... before we left.”

He smirks. “I believe the phrasing was 'I'll go for unsuitable for tonight'. So, you know, at least I had a heads up. About being unsuitable.“

Bellamy can't stop the disdain from creeping into his voice, and she cringes visibly. “That was unforgivable. God, I must have sounded like an arrogant bitch.”

She breaks off, shuddering in apparent disgust at herself, and it makes his tense muscles relax again. This self-awareness is refreshing and, frankly, not something he expected from someone like her. Then again, isn't he kind of doing exactly what he faults her for doing by thinking about her like that?

When she goes on, she manages to surprise him yet again.

“That's not really how I see you, you know. I mean, from things Octavia mentioned I gathered you did some wild shit, but.... You also raised a fourteen-year old by yourself right after graduating high-school. You can't have been that bad, right?”

She smiles shyly and he feels all his remaining anger drain away, feels his defenses melt just like they did last night when he saw her teetering on the grand staircase at the hotel, dancing and smiling at Lincoln's, promising him Paris and then falling asleep in the cab. She does something to him, makes him weak in a way that normally only his sister can, and that scares him.

So he looks her straight in the eyes and says bluntly: “I've been to prison.”

For a moment, there is shocked silence. Apparently, Octavia didn't tell her everything about the 'wild shit' of his youth. But she catches herself again with admirable speed, her expression politely neutral. “What happened?”

And this question, too, surprises him, because most of the few people he's told about his misspent youth don't ask questions, preferring to brush past the topic as quickly as possible – especially people with backgrounds like hers. Maybe he should just get used to being surprised by this girl at every turn and stop expecting her to behave in certain ways. So, because she was brave enough to ask, he gives her the whole sordid story, as a kind of last test. If she keeps her cool after hearing all about his sorry life, he'll never call her a spoiled princess again.

“The usual – angry teenager, overworked single mom, bad neighbourhood... I did what most of my friends did to pass the time – shoplifting, drinking, jacking cars. I got caught and spent a year in juvie – I was lucky I wasn't quite eighteen yet, or I'd have gotten way more time. I got out just in time to find my mom was addicted to painkillers. She tried to keep it from us, but I saw too many of my friends get high not to notice. She died of an overdose during my freshman year.”

“Well, shit.” She studies him silently for a moment before realising she probably should say something more. “I'm sorry. Octavia told me that your mom died, but she never went into details.”

“She never knew the details, and she never will. As far as she knows, our mother had a bad reaction to the drugs she took for her back pain and died of a heart attack. Believe me, our mother messed her up enough, even without the addiction.”

She nods.

“I won't tell her.”

“I hope so.” His voice is sharper than he intends, but she doesn't seem to mind.

“You know, I won't pretend to understand what all of that was like. But I understand losing a parent. It sucks.”

Clarke looks unsure as she says the words and he realises she expects him to attack her, to say that she can't possibly understand anything about his life, but that would be a lie intended just to hurt her. So he just nods, which she takes as encouragement to continue.

“Sometimes I still see a funny youtube-video and try to forward it to my Dad. Talking dogs, dancing goats, unlikely animal friendships – he was all over that. And then I remember that he won't see it, and I want to just curl up and cry for the rest of the day.”

She takes a long draft from her coffee, which must be nearly cold by now, before she continues, looking out the window and sounding like she's very far away.

“And my mother... she means well, but she's not really helping sometimes. She has a very precise idea of how my life should go, and I'm not sure I want it to be like that. Don't get me wrong, I do want to be a doctor and I love pre-med, and I know I'm lucky to have a chance to go to college. But I'm only human, right? I study hard, but I want to have some fun from time to time, and my idea of fun does not include the Mayor's dinner or Senator Kane's son. I guess. I don't actually know him, maybe he's fun.”

Ridiculously enough, the thought of her having fun with Senator Kane's son instead of him stings a little.

“So that's what that was that about, last night?”

She shrugs. “I'm not completely sure. But I was getting ready to go to the dinner in this dress my mother bought me, looking like a damn princess, and I got so sick of it suddenly. I've never done anything remotely like last night, I was always too busy studying. And for once, I just wanted to be someone else. Someone bold and badass who doesn't give a shit what other people think.”

(She doesn't tell him this, but Clarke thinks of Raven just then, Finn's gorgeous, potty-mouthed girlfriend who studies aeronautics and does dirt-racing for fun, and whom Clarke would have loved to be friends with if she hadn't accidentally tried to steal her boyfriend.)

“I don't know, I think you're already a badass. Remember Octavia's last birthday party, when that kid Jasper managed to break the punch bowl with his face? Everyone was panicking, but you just very calmly sat him down, pulled the glass shards out of his face and managed to stop the bleeding before the ambulance even arrived. _That_ was badass. And seriously gross.”

She smiles at the memory. “Thank God Monty made him put on goggles before diving into the punch bowl.” Too quickly, her face falls again. “Be that as it may, I think it's safe to say I failed at being a bad girl. I mean, I wanted to run away to Europe, and in the end all I did was get shit-faced and insult my roommate's brother. It's kind of pathetic, if you think about it.”

She looks adorably dejected, and while he still thinks her obsession with not being a 'good girl' is a little ridiculous, he can kind of understand where she's coming from by now. After all, if he's still struggling to shake off the 'bad boy' label of his youth, he'll have to allow her to struggle against the mold her mother is trying to cast her into.

“If it helps, you successfully fooled the guys at Lincoln's. You even managed to win a proper bar brawl.”

This time she laughs at his joke, a sound that is still as magical as it was last night.

Now that they've shone a light in the darkest corners of their lives and she's cleared the air with her apology, they actually settle in for a nice, quiet afternoon. Bellamy makes a third batch of coffee and bakes pancakes for breakfast while Clarke reads the arts section. At some point, he looks up from an article on archaeological remains discovered at a building site to find her silhouetted against the window, dishevelled hair gleaming in the late afternoon sun, bare legs propped up on the chair next to hers, completely engrossed in her reading. His heart stutters with how beautiful she looks, and how very much not out-of-place in his kitchen.

By the time Clarke remembers that she really should call her mother, the sun is setting already.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I didn't make Bellamy out of character by having him being so boring and sensible, but I figure an older Bellamy who has overcome his past and needs to pay for Octavia's education would prefer things quiet. He can still get his social criticism on at his social worker job at the Delinquent Youth Center, after all.  
> I think Octavia doesn't like to talk about her childhood and their mother, that's why Clarke knew so little about all of it.  
> Also, I have now finished two chapters of this in one day even though I should be working on real stuff. I need help.


	5. We could make the wrongs feel right

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is really more of an epilogue, I guess.

 

Clarke leaves Bellamy's apartment in his shirt and a pair of sweats Octavia has stashed there for movie-night sleepovers and returns three days later for the dress. She brings fresh croissants and a packet of very expensive coffee as a thank you, “for not letting me fly to Paris.”

When he protests because he can't imagine her swimming in money now that she no longer has access to her mother's credit card, she just winks at him.

“Don't worry, I nicked it from my mother. She never has time to drink coffee at home, she won't even notice.”

But since that means she talked to her mother since the night of the gala, he feels entitled to know how the conversation went, so they crack open the coffee and settle down in the kitchen. Clarke explains that she set up a payment plan with her mother for the money she managed to spend on cab fares and rounds for everyone at Lincoln's bar, and he has to admit once more that he misjudged her. Just because her family has money doesn't mean she's irresponsible (well, normally), and he finds that very likeable. All in all, they both agree, their adventure could have ended much worse.

“We could have drowned in a glacial lake in France,” Bellamy deadpans, and Clarke throws a piece of her croissant at him.

When Octavia arrives for the Blakes' weekly movie night, she does a double take at the sight of her roommate sitting in her brother's kitchen, chatting away like they've been the best of friends for years, and they rush to explain. Octavia goes from gawping at them to shrieking with laughter, and once they're through with the story (minus a few details, like the kissing and Clarke's elaborate 'outlaws in Paris'-fantasy) Clarke is officially invited to stay for Blake movie night.

And if Clarke snuggles into his side and Bellamy puts an arm around her during the movie, it is only because Octavia picked some seriously scary slasher flick. (Clarke wonders briefly if her roommate might be secretly a psychopath, but judging by the way Octavia beams when she catches them snuggling up, there seems to be some capacity for empathy there.)

Blake-Griffin movie nights become a thing, as do Clarke and Bellamy's chats over sinfully expensive coffee. After a while, they share coffee and the paper most mornings, and Octavia basically turns Clarke's room into a walk-in closet. Which is just as well, because the first time Octavia insists they take her to Lincoln's, she manages to convince the bar's owner to close up early so she can take him home, something Bellamy swears he has never seen the quiet bartender do before.  

By the time Abby finally figures out who keeps stealing her coffee, Bellamy has been offered the position of director of the Delinquent Youth Center and Clarke has started her first year of residency, so they can afford to splurge on that one luxury themselves.

Octavia gleefully recounts the story of their first adventure at their wedding, but Clarke and Bellamy think it doesn't nearly do them justice. She's not really a princess and he's not really a bad boy, and they're certainly no Bonnie and Clyde. But they do finally fly to Paris on their honeymoon, and their love story, it turns out, is one for the ages.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm glad I got this story finished before the show picks up again, because I have a feeling the second half of season 2 will continue to be sad and brutal, and I wanted to get some shameless fluff done first.  
> I didn't really go through with the Bonnie and Clyde-angle here, but this story inspired me to write 'Jesus Was A Cross Maker', where there are in fact proper robbery-shenanigans.  
> Also, I hope none of you blame Clarke too much for stealing Abby's coffee. I imagine Abby didn't even notice because she has a housekeeper who just keeps re-buying it and thinking that her employer's caffeine levels must be off the charts.


End file.
